Lynn Powell breathed fertile life into King 106 on Tuesday night in a reading of her new poems and those in her award-winning book Old & New Testaments. Using her Baptist upbringing as a constant backdrop for the poems, Powell wove passion and deep meaning together with playful lyricism.
Reading with a respectful pause to insure the weight of her words, Powell spoke of how she learned to love as time passed away. It is this sacrosanct task that only the body can embrace. Her loves took various shapes over the course of many years: her favorite Aunt Roxy, lost loves, her two children, islands lush with mangoes and rum, and Indian myths. Through it all the idea of God - one that does not emphasize God's omnipotence - never strays too far behind.
The second poem read by Powell, "Nativity," highlighted this idea perfectly. Powell juxtaposes her search for the weight of God's love against the backdrop of her daily life, in this case reading to her daughter. She writes, "She senses love/though fierce, is not omnipotent. Mommy/what's the baddest thing that can happen to anybody?"
For Powell, it is these small interactions that reveal the larger complexities about her faith. Where Powell once imagined God as omnipotent, His love is now marked by "exhaustions." Miraculous births lead to deaths laden with suffering.
Seeking to find structure amidst the queer contradictions, the author took to writing sistinas. She told the audience, "I sought order in the most orderly thing." It is here, in the patterned world of verse, that Powell found refuge. "The most orderly thing" also demonstrates Powell's willingness to experiment with poetic form while never losing sight of the significance of the poem.
Into her next poem, "Hegemonies," Powell addressed the audience like an old friend and told of her days in Puerto Rico. Mornings she would read radical feminist literature and in the afternoon she would head off to the local bar, described as an oasis of laziness for workers finishing up an exhausting day in the sun. All are men.
Immediately the reader senses the problem. A man, "close he smells of cologne and rum," keeps his eyes focused at her breasts. The women do not look up at her. In this poem it seems that Powell, through the simple act of enduring lewd glances, is once again challenging her faith. She will not let her religion dictate what stands as an acceptable action for a woman.
Though able to confront situations head on, as in "Hegemonies," much of Powell's charm stems from her humility and grace. Like every writer, Powell is guided by a muse, in this case, Aunt Roxy. Setting up the background for "Revelation," Powell told the audience how Roxy was still full of life at age 101, though being slowed by a stroke at age 98.
Powell spoke about the death that eluded Roxy at every turn, "Craving apple turnovers and sweet potato pie,/she mutters thanks for my careful gift,/but I'd wish you'd try to kill me with sugar, she adds." In this poem, the author melds Roxy's craving for sweets with the jarring finality of death: Roxy "wants to get on with it - no loss left for her to fear..."
The passage of time that resonates through all of Powell's poems surfaces in "Revelation." Taking lessons from Roxy, Powell sees the cyclical nature in her aunt's "longing to salvage and restore the body." Whereas the author used to see the heart-break associated with the death, her faith is restored when she sees Roxy's belly. Not expecting the skin to be smooth and polished, Powell finds hope that death may bring elegance where there were once rough edges.
Departing from the Lynn Powell reading was as much an invigorating feeling as the poetry itself. For more than an hour, Powell's poetry washed over the audience, bringing light to places often overlooked and age-old questions. But this is not how one appreciates a Lynn Powell poem. Like the mysteries of faith, they should come one at a time.
Copyright © 1998, The Oberlin Review.
Volume 127, Number 15, February 26, 1999
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